


tomorrow's dreams

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s03e17 The Team, F/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: In a sea of unsettling changes, Alveus’ heartbeat is like a life preserver of familiarity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter may be familiar - it's from 2016 (tumblr) and was posted in my drabble collection last year. But the next chapter is a BRAND NEW follow-up to it, so I thought it'd be nice to have them together. Feel free to click on through to the next bit!

In a sea of unsettling changes, Alveus’ heartbeat is like a life preserver of familiarity. Everything else is different, but the slow, steady rhythm of his heart is unchanged. It’s more than a relief; it’s a single bright spot, the only one—aside from the fact that Alveus survived at all—she’s yet found.

She closes her eyes, attempting to block out the rest of the world with his slowly beating heart. Unfortunately, this attempt, as all the others were, is doomed to failure.

His heartbeat is beautifully familiar. But the scent of his skin and the touch of his hands are familiar, too, and not in a good way. The hand he runs down her back, undoubtedly meant to soothe her, only serves to make her tense.

“You don’t like this body?” Alveus asks—and his voice, too, is horribly familiar. She hides her face in his chest. “Jemma.”

Jemma shakes her head. Alveus keeps his vessels’ memories; she’s certain that by now he’s discovered her sordid history with Ward, from start to finish—the way he took advantage of her feelings for him on the Bus, the cruel way he discarded her after his cover was broken, and the joy he took in taunting her after his escape from Vault D.

All of that is in Alveus’ head, now. Jemma sees no need to voice any of it.

“You’re displeased,” he says heavily.

His tone—even in such a hated voice—tugs at her heartstrings. “I’m glad you’re here. Ward’s just…isn’t the body I’d have chosen for you.”

She’ll take any body over  _no_  body, though—over no  _him_. The months they’ve spent apart have killed her; it’s been torture, being without him, being  _stranded_  on Earth with nothing but useless star charts and a handful of inert rocks.

Hiding from him just because she dislikes the man he’s wearing feels suddenly petty and ungrateful.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says again, and—steeling herself against unpleasant memories—pushes herself up to meet his eyes. ( _Ward’s_  eyes. They’re wide and a little sad, the way they were so often on the Bus, and the sight of them twists her stomach into painful knots.) “It will take time to adjust, that’s all. Can you give me time?”

“Of course,” Alveus says, face softening. His fingers brush her cheek on the way to burying themselves in her hair, and it sets her skin to burning. “Take all the time you need.”

He guides her head to rest on his chest again, sparing her the sight of Ward’s face, but he can’t stop her other senses. Jemma closes her eyes, holds her breath, and tries again to let his heartbeat drown out the rest of the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for lillysbitchfest, who requested a follow-up to my parasimmons + heart drabble (see chapter 1), and for the anon who prompted page 7 in my inbox meme.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be kind if you review! <3

“Simmons!”

It’s a sudden influx of stimuli that wakes Jemma: the mattress shifting beneath her, fingers at her neck, and an unexpected voice shouting her name all combine to jolt her out of the first sleep she’s gotten in four days.

She blinks groggily up at the man hovering above her, knowing he’s out of place but not quite awake enough to remember why. “Lincoln?”

“Thank god,” he sighs, hand falling away from her neck as he sits back. Belatedly, she realizes he was checking her pulse. “Come on, we need to get out of here. Can you walk?”

“Walk?” she echoes. There’s something obvious she’s missing here, some cause for his worry, but she can’t seem to catch the thought. She’s sluggish with exhaustion, her mind and body heavy in a way that suggests she wasn’t asleep nearly as long as she needed to be, and next to Lincoln’s frantic energy, she’s practically in slow motion.

Case in point: even as she’s trying to get her thoughts in order, he’s moving, tugging her out of bed and to her feet. He’s steadied her before she even knows she’s wavering, and she misses her chance to thank him when his expression slides into a furious sort of horror.

“What?” she asks, looking down at herself. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “You’re okay now. Let’s go.”

It’s his pulling her towards the door that finally shocks away the last clinging tendrils of sleep.

“Go?” She plants her feet. “No! I can’t _leave_!”

She can’t and she _won’t_. She abandoned Alveus once already, leaving him stranded on Maveth when she was rescued back to Earth, and she’s _never_ doing it again. Not ever.

“Simmons, it’s okay,” Lincoln says. He grips her elbows, face intent and a little sad. “He’s not gonna hurt you again, all right?”

Oh. _Oh_.

Finally, everything clicks into place. His horror, his question as to her ability to walk, his urgency…he thinks Alveus has mistreated her. He was upset by her state of undress and the bruises on her visible skin.

“Lincoln, no.” She can’t do much about the love bites on her neck, but she tugs at the hem of her shirt (well, Alveus’, really) in the hopes of covering at least the fingerprints on her thighs. “It isn’t—Alveus hasn’t hurt me. He’d never.”

“Alveus?” Lincoln asks. “Is _that_ the monster’s name?”

‘Monster’ makes her flinch, mostly for the memory of Alveus’ face when she, caught in the dregs of a nightmare and mistaking him for Ward, threw it at him. Her heart’s been aching with the guilt of it in the weeks since; she hates to even think the word, let alone hear it spoken.

“He’s not a _monster_!” she snaps. “He—”

“Peace, Jemma.”

Lincoln and Jemma both startle; he rather more violently than she. In the span of no more than a heartbeat, he’s spun and moved, placing himself firmly between her and the door…and Alveus, who’s appeared in it.

And who only goes on smiling gently; unusual, as he’s proven—now that they’re not the only two people on the planet—to be quite possessive of her. She’d have expected Lincoln’s attempt at protection to anger him.

“Stay back,” Lincoln warns, raised hand sparking in a very clear threat…and still, Alveus smiles.

“It’s all right,” he says serenely. “I understand—Lincoln, isn’t it? You’ve been left to flounder, to stumble along an unmarked path.” He raises his own hand, and Jemma’s breath catches. “I can give you guidance.”

Though she’s seen it happen several times now, the way his skin dissolves into a wave of sand never fails to freeze her in place. This time is different, however; rather than sinking right into Lincoln, it rushes past him to circle her instead, winding around and across her shoulders like a friendly creature in some animated film.

“Oh!”

The cry escapes her unbidden, an uncontrolled verbal reaction to the surprise of being suddenly surrounded by Alveus’ parasites, but perhaps it was what he was looking for. As soon as she speaks, the wave of sand moves on, shooting off to its original target.

Lincoln’s head snaps back at the impact, and as he heaves in a gasping breath, Jemma backs away.

Her heart beats hard in her throat; dread and fear and cautious optimism war in her chest. The Inhumans who carry Alveus’ parasites always seem so happy about it—several of them have assured her that they’re much better off this way—and yet part of her, a part scarred by the Chitauri virus and the berserker staff and Donnie Gill’s slow-dawning horror, can’t help but worry.

She trusts Alveus, of course she does. She knows he wouldn’t—it’s just that—

But the wave of sand—of _parasites_ —is returning to Alveus, becoming skin once more, and Lincoln…Lincoln beams.

“Thank you,” he says.

Alveus inclines his head and then extends an inviting hand to Jemma.

With regret, she ignores it. “Lincoln?”

“Jemma,” he says, giving her his full attention at once.

She pauses, slightly thrown. He’s never used her first name before—but, of course, Alveus explained weeks ago that his love for her is too encompassing to be kept wholly out of the neural network that joins him to the Inhumans he sways. They’re all given to a certain degree of familiarity with her.

“I,” she begins, shaking off her hesitation—and then falters once more, realizing she has no idea how to ask the question. “Are you—is it really—?”

Lincoln offers no help, simply waits in patient silence for her to formulate a full sentence; in desperation, she turns to Alveus.

“Jemma has concerns,” he explains and, apparently giving up on her joining him, enters the room to join her instead. His arm wraps around her, supporting and comforting both, and she leans into the embrace. “After long exposure to Hydra, she naturally fears that our union is a form of brainwashing.”

“It’s not,” Lincoln says, taking her hands in his. “Jemma, you know about my history. My addiction.”

“Well, yes,” she says slowly, caught somewhere between confusion and relief at the easy tone. It’s a far cry from the half-defensive, half-resentful snarl with which he first divulged his alcoholism.

(Of his own free will, she might add; that sort of information is only included on the Index when the Gifted—or Inhuman—in question is considered a threat, but she thought at the time that he was trying to make a point.)

“All those times I drank myself stupid,” he says, “every night I got blackout drunk—it was because I was trying to fill this…this _void_ , this emptiness that I’ve felt all my life. And now it’s gone.” He squeezes her hands, looking no less serious for the slight smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not brainwashed. I’m _whole_.”

Jemma searches his face, looking for—for something. The eerie blankness that was behind the smiles of Hydra’s brainwashed minions, perhaps, or maybe the darkness that undercut Donnie’s forced obedience.

But there’s nothing. Just sincerity. He doesn’t _appear_ brainwashed.

And what he said, that bit about feeling emptiness all his life…she’s heard that before. Not from Giyera or Lucio or any of the others, but from Daisy, in a drunken, mournful rant the night before Jemma was taken by the monolith. If that emptiness is something Daisy and Lincoln have in common, something that can be filled by the sway—

“You were one of the first Inhumans,” she says, half to Alveus and half to herself. “Perhaps—perhaps your people are _meant_ to be part of your network? If it’s not a change you make, but a potential that already exists…” She looks up at Lincoln, at his lingering smile. “They might really be missing an integral part of themselves.”

It’s not a hive mind, nothing like the Chitauri, but it’s no less real for being to a lesser degree. The connection exists, not only between the swayed and Alveus, but among those swayed—she’s seen it, has personally witnessed Letty share detailed information with Giyera through nothing more than a look.

That sort of-of mental connection, of psychic link…being joined, as Alveus calls it, to so many others, it must have some kind of psychological effect—and so too must its absence.

And Claude tried to describe the feeling of connection to her once. He likened it to a constant, soothing whisper in the back of his mind.

That makes sense then, doesn’t it? If the Kree deliberately designed the early Inhumans to be joined by Alveus’ powers, if it’s genetically encoded in all of those early Inhumans’ descendants…she imagines the absence of the network could be likened to constantly—and unknowingly!—straining to hear something that isn’t there.

It’s natural they would all feel empty without it…and natural, too, that they’d be overjoyed to have that emptiness filled.

“It’s not brainwashing,” Jemma concludes, and feels the weight of the world slide right off her shoulders. The relief is overwhelming, enough so to make her dizzy, and she tugs her hands away from Lincoln’s that she might properly hug Alveus. “I’m so sorry for doubting you.”

“No apology is necessary,” Alveus assures her, hugging her close. “I always understood why you would wonder, after all Hydra wrought in my absence. I’m only glad that Lincoln could reassure you.”

“So am I,” she says. In fact, _glad_ is such an understatement as to be almost comical.

Ever since he first displayed his powers, the question of the sway has been weighing on her terribly. With that question came a bevy of unpleasant accompanying emotions (fear that she’d given her affections wrongly once more, guilt for doubting him, a creeping sort of shame that she might be party to brainwashing _again_ …), so heavy she might have drowned in them.

In all honesty, she wasn’t sleeping well even _before_ the scientific puzzle which so transfixed her these last four days. Constant emotional torment has taken its toll; the slumber from which Lincoln woke her was the best she’s had since Hydra’s collection of Inhumans, newly woken from their gel matrix prisons, was swayed.

And speaking of Lincoln waking her… “Lincoln, what are you doing here? _How_ are you here?”

Even as she asks, she realizes for the first time that he’s dressed in tac gear, kevlar jacket and all.

“We’re on a rescue mission,” he says with a little shrug. “The Zephyr dropped out of contact at these coordinates, so Daisy, Elena, Joey, and I came to, well, see what happened.”

Jemma’s heart skips a beat.

“The _Zephyr_?” she asks, looking up at Alveus.

“Giyera’s doing,” he says, and rubs a soothing hand up and down her back. “I have no intention of harming your team, my Jemma, I promise.”

Of course he doesn’t. She _knows_ that, they’ve _talked_ about it, it’s just…

“I’m sorry,” she says, slumping against his chest. “I’m very tired.”

She feels more than hears his answering chuckle. “I know. Why don’t you return to bed?”

Just the suggestion is enough to bring the weight of her exhaustion crashing back down; she has to fight off a yawn as she shakes her head.

“In a moment,” she says. “What are you going to do with the team?”

“Allow them to escape,” Alveus says, and nods to Lincoln. “You will go with them, for now.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promises, and then—then they must share something through their connection, because there’s a long, heavy moment of silence. “Of course.”

“Bring the others, if you can,” Alveus orders in clear goodbye, and, driven by some impulse, Jemma leaves his arms to throw hers around Lincoln.

“Be careful,” she says. “If the team finds out about the sway…they’ll think the same as I did.”

“Don’t worry.” Lincoln hugs her gently before stepping back. “I know how to keep a secret.”

After another meaningful silence, he’s gone, the thud of his jogging footsteps trailing him down the corridor. That’s the problem with this base, Jemma muses; everything echoes off the concrete walls. If their bedroom weren’t deliberately placed as far from the hangar as possible, she could never have slept past the Zephyr arriving.

The thought of the Zephyr—of her team, here—without her worry for them to distract her, it brings an ache with it. She misses them terribly, but she knows she can’t possibly go to them. If she, who loves and trusts Alveus, could wonder over the sway…the team would think the worst, of course. Of the sway _and_ of Alveus.

They’d try to contain him—to imprison him like Lash. She can’t allow that.

“They will learn in time,” Alveus murmurs, his hand falling lightly to her shoulder. “I will bring liberation to all, your team included, and you will be with them again.”

“I know,” she says, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “I just wish it could happen sooner.”

He squeezes her shoulder in sympathy, then nudges her towards the bed.

“Go back to sleep,” he says. “You said goodnight only hours ago.”

Sleep sounds heavenly, and their bed has never looked more inviting, but—

“Stay with me?” she asks. “Unless you’re too busy.”

“For you?” He kisses her temple. “Never, my Jemma. Lie down.”

She does, and watches in appreciation as he strips out of his coat, shirt, and shoes. A few weeks ago he somehow improved Ward’s body, washed away all of his scars and calluses, and it’s made it much easier to look at him. During their time together on the Bus, she would spend hours tracing and kissing Ward’s every bruise and scar; their absence now reassures her that this is Alveus, the man she loves, and not the horrid traitor whose body he’s taken.

And however horrid Ward was, he never stopped being annoyingly gorgeous. It’s lovely now to curl up with Alveus in their bed, to feel the strength of his arms and enjoy his perfect physique. If she weren’t so tired…

But she _is_ so tired. She’s bloody exhausted.

“ _Sleep_ , Jemma,” Alveus orders, and curled happily in his embrace, warmed by his touch and his love, she does so easily.


End file.
